


Silken Lullaby

by FlowerCrownOfPoppy



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, baby avatar au, mama web is totally wholesome and not at all creepy, warning for one mention of breastfeeding, who the baby is is left up to interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29209221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlowerCrownOfPoppy/pseuds/FlowerCrownOfPoppy
Summary: The Desolation wasn't the only fear to have a child.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Silken Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this spontaneously a couple of nights ago, figured it was worth posting. Nothing explicit save one mention of a nipple.

The Mother of Puppets hums a pleasant tune as she rocks the newborn in her arms. Remnants of webbing afterbirth cling to his temples and between his toes. He coos softly, chubby fists grasping at the smooth silk of her gown as 8 legs skitter over his fingers. He doesn't so much as blink – they're all he's ever known. He's pressed contently against her bosom where a heart does not beat.

"Curious." The Eye is always there, the _pest_ , stepping forward from the shadows. It's taken the form of a man now, clean cut and dressed neatly in business attire. It always did covet positions atop the corporate ladder. "Curious indeed."

"Here to get a closer look?" The Mother teases without warmth. Her nameless babe begins to fuss, no doubt sensing the unwanted presence. "I'm afraid you won't be able to, my dear."

"There is nothing I don't see." The puppet – because that's what it is, and in this they share – cracks a toothy grin. "Your host's offering was successful. It seems the Lightless Flame is not the only one that can give birth."

"Oh, please." The Mother rolls all 8 of her eyes, adjusting her grip on the little one, who is whimpering properly now. She can make him stop crying and is sorely tempted to. "There's not exactly rules to this, are there?"

"Your ilk hardly inspires religious fervor," the Eye says, taking another step forward. The spiders crawling through her hair and under her clothes emit a hiss that passes through the room like wind in tallgrass. Webbing is weaved with irritation up the legs of her rocking chair. "Not that you need it. This child...I must Know it."

The Mother presses her lips together, fingers curling around the babe's soft head. He stops whimpering and noses around for a nipple. Insatiable, these newborns are.

"You'll have to wait for a while longer, darling," she says, casually moving her dress aside. The child latches, happily distracted by the prospect of food. "Or more likely forever."

The Eye's gaze sharpens, catching on a curtain of shimmering filament. It drapes down from the ceiling and over empty boxes and sticks to every dusty corner of the room. Her spiders have done well building the barrier between them; by the time it follows those rambling threads to a conclusive end, she'll already be gone. It'll search doggedly no doubt, until The End of All Things.

It's a dance they've shared for eons, before man could conceive of such a thing as time. They know their roles like rolling tides know the sand and gravity knows the earth.

"You of all creatures should know this: nothing is hidden from me forever." The bright gaze of the Watcher burns. Many spiders let out silent screams that ring through her mind as they fall to the ground, dead. She's already on her feet and prepared to skitter off when the blinding light winks out, leaving her in relative peace (for now). The Watcher never truly leaves, no, and its agent _will_ return sooner than later, prying and prodding into every corner it's not wanted. Until then…

She sinks back into the chair. The nameless child hasn't paused once in his suckling. She knows his hunger won't be abated – what he desires on instinct can't be found in mother's milk – so she hums again, rocking back and forth. Her spiders continue to weave lazily around the legs of the chair until they're covered completely.

Gently she unlatches the babe from her chest and brings him closer. She shushes him before he can cry, reaching down to the bag at her side. This at least hasn't been reduced to a mass of cobweb.

From it she pulls out a simple black and white book, a personal favorite of hers: _Hello Mr Spider._ Silver strings float from its pages and gently sway in the air. No human being would be able to see them until it's too late yet the child watches with wonder, wide eyes following their slow arc through the light.

The Mother reads it start to finish, fingers tapping on the door at its end. The babe is quiet at last. She curls forward to press her ashen face against his and whispers of the dark places he will lure mortals to, the minds he will play with and break like toys, the bodies he will hollow.

"Sleep well, little one," she coos, placing a kiss to his forehead. The nameless babe coos sleepily back and closes his eyes. He does not dream.


End file.
